


The Wanderer and the Interior Exile

by rooyoo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 04:18:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rooyoo/pseuds/rooyoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been spending so long tweaking this I don't think I'll ever get it the way I want it to be. Submitting it now just to make myself stop. Hope you like!</p><p>221b set during ASiP and RF, vaguely. Kind of abstract. Can be read with Johnlock goggles on if you want to.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Wanderer and the Interior Exile

**Author's Note:**

> I've been spending so long tweaking this I don't think I'll ever get it the way I want it to be. Submitting it now just to make myself stop. Hope you like!
> 
> 221b set during ASiP and RF, vaguely. Kind of abstract. Can be read with Johnlock goggles on if you want to.

John Watson is a man of action. He knows when to shut down his mind – to stop thinking and just _do_.

And so it’s not so strange that he will kill for this man, this absolute _creature_ with sharp eyes and pale hands, a shining light amidst bleak fog. In John’s mind, he only knows this:

_Oh God, please let him live._

And so John doesn’t falter and John’s hands do not shake. When it’s done, John knows to run, to hide himself. When it’s done, John does not feel remorse.

But Sherlock looks at him with that look – that gleam in his eyes, _he knows_ – and John’s chest swells with an unmistakable feeling that is not quite love, and John knows without being told:

_Anything, anyone, for this man._

* * *

 

Sherlock knew somewhere inside that mind of his that someday everything would end like this. But Sherlock had never anticipated that something could have made this mess worth all the impropriety. Looking at it now, it’s really not so strange.

Sherlock lifts his eyes across the street toward John and his chest burns with feeling – a pain that is not quite love, and he knows:

_Anything, anyone, for this man._

In the end, Sherlock can only smile as he gazes down the line of the building, toward the ground waiting below.


End file.
